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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27552607">The Price of Freedom</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Violette_Witch/pseuds/Violette_Witch'>Violette_Witch</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Magnus Archives (Podcast)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Anger, Angst, Blindness, Eye Trauma, Gen, Season 3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 18:21:35</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,588</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27552607</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Violette_Witch/pseuds/Violette_Witch</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Tim Stoker finds a way to escape the Watcher's hold on him. It will cost him his sight, but it costs him something else as well.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist &amp; Tim Stoker</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>35</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>The Price of Freedom</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Basically I listened to MAG 154 and thought "Hey, what if Tim knew about this. Wouldn't that be kinda messed up?" and then I decided to write it.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>No one at the institute wanted to be around Tim anymore. Which was fine by him, he didn’t want to be around them either. They were all either monsters or idiots on their way to becoming monsters, and honestly, he didn’t see much of a difference. Jon wanted him to help with research, to be his <em>friend</em> again.</p><p>Friends. Had they ever really been friends? Tim couldn’t remember. All he felt when he thought of Jon was rage. Any fondness they might have once had had burned away.</p><p>In any case, Tim <em>was</em> doing research, just not the kind Jon wanted him to be doing. He had looked into the stranger, the circus, the thing that had stolen his little brother from him. He had wanted to kill it, but there was something he wanted more than revenge. He wanted to be free. He <em>needed</em> to be free. And he had finally found the solution.</p><p>Elias was surprisingly lax when it came to the security of his office. Maybe because he could see anyone who tried to break in, but he couldn’t be watching <em>all </em>the time. Maybe it was The Web or maybe Tim just got lucky, but one night he’d walked past and found the door slightly ajar. Inside the office he’d found a box full of old tapes, stashed away. He figured they must be important if Elias was hiding them, but he listened to a few and none of them seemed to have anything relevant.</p><p>Until finally, he found it. Some drama with the old Archivist and the father of that Gerard Keay who always showed up in statements about Lietners. Tim almost stopped listening a few minutes in but then he heard the man – well, the ghostly memory of him – say something.</p><p>He had quit.</p><p>He had found a way to leave the Magnus Institute.</p><p>The Watcher. The Eye. There was no escaping it as long as it could see you.</p><p>But if you couldn’t see….</p><p>It made so much sense. Black out the windows, pull closed the shutters. Hide away from it’s wretched, piercing stare.</p><p>He would miss the sky, miss the sight of running rapids and the view from towering mountains.</p><p>But it was a small price to pay for freedom.</p><p> </p><p>He considered telling the others – Martin, at least, deserved to know there was a way out of this mess. If he was even still Martin. There was no way of knowing. Besides, he would probably just try to stop Tim, tell him that it was too risky, not worth injuring himself. Martin did like to try and take care of everyone around him, and Tim didn’t want to be taken care of. He just wanted OUT.</p><p>No, this was something Tim was going to do on his own.</p><p> </p><p>He found a dark alley, far from the institute, but not too far from a hospital. He could be rash at times but he wanted to do this smart, and he found that he was oddly … calm, as he stared at the knife in his hand, the light from a nearby streetlamp glinting off the blade. He felt like he should be scared or angry or at the very least nervous. Like some part of himself should be screaming not to do this. But his hands were steady as he typed in the number for an ambulance on his phone, to have it ready when this was over.</p><p>He wished his last view of the world could be something better than this dingy alleyway, the night sky not even showing any stars because of all the light pollution. He found himself fiddling with his phone, opening up the gallery, searching for a picture. Something to remember. He wasn’t sure exactly what he was looking for but he found a selfie he’d taken at some work function a while back. Jon was behind him, giving a tired smile at the camera with Martin beaming from an odd angle in the corner of the picture. Tim himself was in the forefront, and beside him stood Sasha, her arm around his waist to ensure she’d get a prime spot on the camera.</p><p>Except it wasn’t Sasha. He knew that now. The face in this picture, smiling so perfectly so … emptily at the camera. It was then that he felt the rage come. He barely stopped himself from throwing his phone to the ground, his teeth clenched. That was the thing that had killed her. Killed her and replaced her and played with them all. That was the reason he was doing this. He couldn’t go through that again.</p><p>He reached up and wiped a hot tear from his eye, then he positioned his fingers, prying open his right eyelid as if he were about to put a contact in. The normalcy of the action he had done almost every day for the past few years almost made him want to laugh. Just one more thing he wouldn’t have to worry about after this.</p><p>He set his jaw, tightened his grip on the knife, and plunged it into his eye.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>He woke in the hospital, vaguely remembering the pain, the forcing himself to stab his left eye as well before calling the ambulance. A stretcher, questions he couldn’t answer. Nurses and Doctors rushing about until finally, silence.</p><p>He breathed deeply, smelling the chemical filled air. He had expected to feel … something. <em>Released</em> somehow? Maybe he thought the weight on his chest would have lightened. The pain would go away. But no. He still felt all twisted up inside.</p><p>He started when he heard the scratch of a chair against the hospital floor, and a shuffle of clothes as someone repositioned themself. “Who’s there!” he demanded, desperately hoping he didn’t sound scared, laying vulnerably on the hospital bed, his face covered in bandages.</p><p>“Tim,” the person said, sounding relieved, “Tim, it’s me. Jon,” although he needn’t have said anything, Tim recognized his voice immediately.</p><p>“What the hell are you doing here,” he asked through gritted teeth.</p><p>“I –” Jon breathed out like he was deflating, “The hospital couldn’t find a next of kin, so they called the institute. I came to make sure you were ok.”</p><p>Tim didn’t know how to feel about the softness in Jon’s voice. He didn’t know how to feel about the fact that apparently his Hell of a job was the first place the hospital would call when he had an emergency. Then again he supposed he shouldn’t be surprised. He hadn’t exactly kept anyone close for … a long time. Even the various “romantic connections” he’d formed … hadn’t led to anything lasting. Those that might have he had scared away once … everything had started.</p><p>“Tim, what happened?” Jon said after Tim had stayed silent for a long moment, “The hospital said that your eyes – what did this to you? And … why? Did you find out something about The Unknowing were they trying to stop you or – or scare you or –“</p><p>Tim let out a short, harsh laugh which stopped Jon’s ramblings in their tracks.</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“I’m not going to give you a statement, Jon,” he said tiredly.</p><p>“I –” Jon started, sounding indignant, but then he paused, “right, I’m sorry I didn’t mean to – you know that I wouldn’t – I’m sorry.”</p><p>Silence fell over them and Tim could feel Jon’s eyes on him. Those eyes still so tightly connected to the Watcher. A part of him wondered if he could every <em>really</em> escape it, but he pushed those thoughts aside. He wasn’t going to sour his freedom before he even got to taste it. Still, knowing that Jon was there, that through him that <em>thing</em> could still see EVERYTHING. It made him sick.</p><p>“Thanks for coming,” he said emptily, “you can go now.”</p><p>“Tim—”</p><p>“Goodbye, Jon. I don’t need you here,” he said, turning away from him as best he could on the small hospital bed.</p><p>“No, Tim, I don’t know if the doctors have—”</p><p>“I said, <em>leave</em>.”</p><p>“I don’t know if I should –”</p><p>“GET OUT” Tim hadn’t meant to shout, but the more Jon spoke the angrier he became, he sat up in the hospital bed, turned toward where he knew Jon sat, breathing heavily.</p><p>He heard the chair scrape against the floor again and assumed Jon had stood, he didn’t move to leave though.</p><p>“Tim,” he said, his voice a mixture of conviction and concern, “your eyes are badly damaged.”</p><p>“I know,” Tim said, still fuming.</p><p>“The doctors did what they could” Jon continued, “but they don’t think –”</p><p>“I KNOW!” Tim yelled again, “I know exactly how damaged my eyes are and I know that I’ll never see the sun again and I know that this comes with a whole new set of problems but I DON’T CARE if it means I never have to see you or the rest of those cursed archives ever again!”</p><p>“Oh,” Jon said in realization, taken aback and falling back into his chair, “oh good lord, you didn’t – this isn’t something that …. happened<em> to</em> you, is it?”</p><p>Tim didn’t care for the pity or horror in Jon’s voice, and he didn’t care to respond.</p><p>“I’m sorry, Tim,” Jon said eventually, once again moving to leave. “I – if you ever need me I’ll be there. We all will.”</p><p>Tim was silent and Jon began to walk out of the room. “Good luck,” Tim said despite himself, “y’know, saving the world.”</p><p>Jon paused, but didn’t respond. And then Tim was alone.</p><p>He'd never wanted to be alone before.</p>
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